


Have You Seen My Bittle?

by MapleleafCameo



Series: Demons and Pies [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Demons, Fake Baking Shows, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Magic Realism, Magically Appearing Pies, so much ridiculousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:46:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8481358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: Eric and Jack travel to England so Eric can appear on as a celebrity contestant on The All English Pastry Countdown. He's kidnapped because of his magically appearing pies and Jack has to turn to his mother's old friend John Watson to help find him. The fact that Sherlock happens to be a demon has nothing to do with it but Mycroft might. It's pies after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I got this idea a while ago and I've been letting it percolate in my head. I decided to crossover Easy As Pie (Check, Please) and The Devil and Doctor Watson (Sherlock which is still a WIP and yes I will finish it:)  
> You don't necessarily have to have read either. Check, Please! is about a young man going off to play hockey in college and who happens to bake pies and falls for the Captain of the team, Jack Zimmermann. In Easy As Pie, Eric can make pies magically appear and what appears is often affected by his emotional state.  
> The Devil and Doctor Watson story takes place in the BBC Sherlock Holmes universe. Sherlock and Mycroft are demons and john is special. I haven't finished writing that one yet so can't give that part away. 
> 
> This story is complete and utter nonsense. Complete and Utter Nonsense!
> 
> All the blessings on [Ngozi](http://ngoziu.tumblr.com) and her marvelous webcomic [Check, Please!](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com)  
> Thank you Mattsloved1 for putting up with my nonsense:)

“Oh, Jack! It's all so amazing! I cannot believe this.” Bitty flung his arms wide, did a little twirl and then jumped into Jack’s strong, muscular arms. He swung Bitty around. Placing his hands on Jack’s face, Bitty kissed him, slow, soft and sweet. The lights and noise from the London Eye danced around them. After the kiss, Bitty opened his big brown eyes wider than Jack had ever seen.

 

Despite the clamor, Jack heard a small pop and automatically looked to the ground.

 

On the pavement beside them, a small tart had appeared. Bitty, released from Jack’s arms, bent down to pick it up. He looked apologetic. “Sorry, sweetheart. I am just so overwhelmed and happy. We are on our honeymoon. I get invited to bake as a celebrity chef on my favorite baking show _The All English Pastry Countdown_. And I am loving spending all of this time with you in London.”

 

“It’s all right. You’re allowed to be happy. Just be careful.” He smiled fondly, plucked the tart out of Bitty’s hand and popped it into his mouth. “Hmmm, it’s different from your mini pies. Jam and almonds, I think. Maybe it’s a British thing.” He swallowed the mouthful. “I like it!”

 

“Well, maybe I can figure out what it is and make more!”

 

Jack tapped him on the nose. “Just try the old fashioned way first instead of your way.”

 

Bitty grinned, grabbed Jack’s hand, and tugged him toward the direction of the river cruise they were supposed to be on in about ten minutes.

 

Neither noticed the two figures that watched from the shadows.

 

“See? He was right. He can make pies appear out of thin air! Think about it George! He gets on that show, he’s going to win. We haven’t got a chance!”

 

George rubbed his nose and sniffed. “Well, we’re going have to do something about that, aren’t we James?”

 

Shaking his head, James wondered why he stuck with George. It’s not like they liked each other, but they hated any upstart American coming over to their country and trying to win on their show. He sighed, and they began plotting how they could get rid of the tiny magic baker.

 

o_X_o

 

“Be right back, sweetie!” Bitty shut the door to their hotel room and walked down the hall to the elevator. He punched the button for the lobby and hummed to himself as he descended. The elevator slowed and with a ding, the door swooshed open on the floor two down from theirs. Two men waited to get on. He smiled at them, thinking they both looked vaguely familiar. They stepped into the elevator, and he automatically moved over to give them room, but one of them, the tall blond with spikes, went behind him. Bitty stood there, humming quietly to himself when he felt a sharp jab in his neck. “Hey! What the…” He felt woozy and slid to the floor supported by one of the men.

 

“There. We’ll find a nice out of the way location for you until after the competition.”

 

o_X_o

 

“Papa, I don't know what to do! The police don't think he’s missing. They believe that we had a fight and he’s just off somewhere, mad at me.” Jack could feel his chest tighten and the room seemed too small.

 

“Hang on. Your mother is trying to tell me something.” Jack could hear his father ask what she wanted.

 

“Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do. There’s a man she knows in London. He’s an old friend. Apparently, his partner is a well know detective. Gotta pen? All right. The address is 221B Baker Street.”

 

“221B Baker Street. Who do I ask for?”

 

“Ask for John Watson. Tell him Alicia says he owes her a favour.”

 

“Okay. Thanks, Papa.”

 

“Jack, it will be okay.”

 

o_X_o

 

“Judging by your accent, you are Canadian, notably French Canadian, from Montreal, although there is a slight inflection on certain words which indicates your mother is American and you’ve spent a substantial amount of time there. The way you stand and the significant curvature of your posterior, you are a professional hockey player. You are currently visiting England on holiday, most likely a honeymoon. Your partner has gone missing, and you are afraid that he's been kidnapped, possibly because the kidnappers believe they can get a significant amount of money from you, more likely because your partner has something they want. You have been to the police, but they couldn't help you because they think you and your partner had a fight and he is punishing you by staying away. There’s something else, something you are afraid to tell the police, perhaps something scandalous you think might ruin your career. Judging by the way John has been sizing you up, he wondered for a brief moment when he first saw you, if somehow you were his son. That of course, is patently ridiculous as you are so much taller than he is and look nothing like him. Of course, John likes brunettes, and blondes and red heads, and it is possible that your mother is tall and brunette…”

 

“She’s blonde, but I don’t…”

 

“…but prefers his women shorter and his men taller…”

 

“Sherlock.” John scowled at him. He had been thrown a bit, it’s true, by the appearance of Alicia’s son, but he had not thought for even the tiniest instant that Jack could be his. He’d followed Alicia’s career and her marriage and knew that Jack was the spitting image of his father.

 

Jack, meanwhile, blinked once or twice, his features, seemingly immobile, but the shadow in his hooded gaze led John to believe he was genuinely afraid of what might have happened to his missing partner.

 

He opened his mouth once or twice and then shrugged and looked helplessly at John. “Is he always like this?”

 

Going for reassuring, to offset Sherlock being prickly and obnoxious, John smiled. This young man seemed too uptight to be anything but honest. “Yes, yes he is. Sorry about that. May I get you anything to drink? Tea?”

 

“Um, no thank you, sir. But do you think you can help me find Bittle? Eric? He’s been missing a couple of days now. The police won't. They do think we had a fight and he’s gone off…”

 

“Aha! I was right!” Sherlock flounced out of his chair, swirling his housecoat.

 

“…but he isn't like that. He wouldn’t just leave without telling me. He…I…” Jack shrugged again and then sank onto the sofa, put his head in his hands and scrubbed at his hair. He looked up again, and John wasn’t surprised to see tears pooling in his bright blue eyes.

 

“Yes! Of course! We…”

 

“Boring! I suspect the police are correct and your husband will return shortly. In the meantime, thank you for stopping by. John will see you out.” Sherlock stood and turned to the music stand and picked up the violin from where he had placed it when the doorbell rang.

 

Jack looked stunned. John, fairly sure Sherlock wanted to scare their client into telling him more, went for outraged. “Sherlock! For God’s sake, you…”

 

“Please. Someone took him. I know they did! He wouldn't have left me. It's not like that!”

 

Sherlock turned quickly and stepped into Jack’s space. “You know who took your husband, don't you?” he said in a surprisingly soft voice, juxtaposing the harsh tones of earlier. His eyes seemed to bore right into Jack’s soul. “More likely you know why. Interesting!”

 

Jack stared at Sherlock, blinked again and swallowed. He glanced at John, perhaps sensing more sympathy from him than he’d ever get from Sherlock.

 

“I, uh, yes, I mean no, I don't know who took him, but I know why. I couldn't tell the police. They wouldn’t have believed me.”

 

“Why? What? What is it about your husband? What does he possess that someone would want to kidnap him?”

 

“He, uh, he can make pies.”

 

“Okay,” said John, not understanding why that would be significant. “So he’s a famous baker?”

 

“No, I mean, yes, he is, sorry. He’s supposed to be on a baking show, The All English Pastry Count Down.”

 

“Wait! Bittle, Eric Bittle!”

 

“Yes, I said…”

 

“The famous pastry chef and author?” John looked at Sherlock, who looked unimpressed. “Sherlock, we have his cookbook! I made those apple cinnamon tart things…”

 

“Mini pies,” said Jack.

 

“Yes, those, for your birthday.”

 

“Dull!”

 

“Dull? You ate six in one helping!”

 

“Yes and then Mycroft popped by and ate the rest! I couldn't get the smell of sulfur off out of the room. Ruined my birthday!”

 

“Bit rich, coming from you. Sherlock, we have to help! His husband is missing!” John stepped up to Sherlock and placed a hand on his arm. “Think about it. What if it were me?”

 

“Oh, John. Not fair! Very well. Details. I need details. What won't the police believe?”

 

Jack took a deep breath and said, “I don't know how he does it, but he makes pies.”

 

“Well of course he does. You said he’s a pastry chef!”

 

“No! It’s hard…they appear…out of thin air.”

 

John sat down. He felt the need to blink. Jack’s blinking seemed to rub off on him. “So, they’re…magic pies?”

 

“There’s always something,” muttered Sherlock.

 

“Uh, yes, but no one knows, and it’s a secret, but someone found out, and they’ve taken Bits.”

 

“How do you know it’s because of the pies?”

 

“There’s a note.”

 

“Did you show the police?”

 

“No. They wouldn’t have believed it.” Jack pulled the note from his wallet.

 

Sherlock snatched it from Jack’s hand and read it out loud. “‘We have your husband. Don't try to find him or we’ll tell everyone about his magic pies. You know what we mean.’ This note is ridiculous! Melodramatic! I’ll take the case!”

 

“You believe me? Just like that?”

 

“Of course! Only an idiot would come up with a story like that, and you are not an idiot. Bit slow perhaps, too many times getting your head bashed in by hockey sticks, but…”

 

“Sherlock!”

 

“…not imaginative enough to come up with a story like that. Besides…” and he smiled a maniacal smile, “John and I have had experiences that make magic pie pale in comparison. Let’s go!”

 

o_X_o

 

Bitty sat curled up in a small ball on a cot in an abandoned warehouse. It was damp and cold. He concentrated on breathing evenly so as not to let the panic that sat in his chest overwhelm him.

 

A man in a hood stood over him, arms crossed, voice muffled by the material in front of his mouth. “We won't hurt you. You are far too valuable.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“We know about the magic pies, Mr. Bittle.”

 

Bitty shook with panic, but now he also shook with anger. Fear had taken up residence inside of him, but wrath began burning brightly. They were on his honeymoon, he missed Jack, Jack didn't know where he was, he wasn't sure he would ever see him again, and he started filming the television show in a few days. He’d had enough. Anyone who knew Bitty would have recognized the annoyance gleaming from his eyes and would have backed out of his kitchen slowly.

 

“Bless your heart,” he said. Bitty stood up, clenched his hands tightly and glared. From where he stood, he could see the slightly burnt scones appear overhead and begin to plop down onto the floor near the unfortunate kidnapper. The man turned, confused, vision obscured by the hood, obviously wondering what that noise could be. He soon found out when the scones began bouncing off of him.

 

“Hey! Stop! Help!” The second hooded kidnapper came running, drawn by the cries of the first. Scones pelted him as well. The two men cowered on the floor of the warehouse.

 

There was a crash of noise and a shout of voices. Bitty stopped the rain of scones and ran to Jack who’d come in with two other men. One of them crashed into the two kidnappers, shook them in a way that reminded Bitty of a terrier. Jack reached Bitty’s side and hugged him tight. “Are you all right? Please tell me you’re all right!”

 

“Sweetheart, I will be, now that you’re here!”

 

“This is all very touching. Glad you’re all right Mr. Bittle. John, try not to damage the suspects. We’ll want them in good shape when we hand them over to Lestrade,” said the second man.

 

John growled a bit and let the two men go. They fell to the floor in a heap. He turned to Bitty. “Are you all right, Mr. Bittle?”

 

“Yes, thanks. Mr. Bittle is my father. Call me Eric. And you are?”

 

“John. John Watson. And this is Sherlock Holmes. Your husband hired us to find you.”

 

Jack hadn’t removed his arms from Bitty’s waist. “I can't thank you enough for finding my Bittle.” He kissed the top of Bitty’s head.

 

“Let’s see who’s under these hoods, shall we?” Sherlock ripped off the hoods.

 

Bitty gasped. “No! It’s George Lambsy and James Olive! Why? Why would you kidnap me?”

 

“We wanted you out of the way. With your magic pies, you would have won the baking contest. Can’t have an American winning!”

 

“But how did you know about my magic pies? Only a few people know about that?”

 

George looked at James and James shrugged. “A man came to us and told us you had an unfair advantage. You were able to produce magic pies. We didn't believe him at first, but when he showed us his forked tail, we knew something was up.”

 

“Forked tail?” Bitty looked at Jack. Jack looked just as confused.

 

“I knew it! Mycroft!” Sherlock yelled.

 

There was a small popping noise, not unlike the sound Bitty’s pies made but slightly more demonic, less pure and the faint whiff of sulfur. A tall man, impeccably dressed, with reddish hair stood where no one had been before.

 

“You bellowed, brother dear?”

 

“You! You interfering, sanctimonious, supercilious, pompous fathead. You promised! No more interfering with humans, especially in London.”

 

Mycroft flicked imaginary dust off of his waistcoat. “I didn't interfere, precisely.”

 

“You did! And I know why! It was to get your claws on this young man here, wasn’t it? You found out he makes pies! You planted the idea in these two to kidnap him, but you wanted him for yourself!”

 

“I liked you so much better before Doctor Watson corrupted you.”

 

After making sure the two kidnapping chefs were securely cuffed, John walked over to Bitty and Jack and gently led them away.

 

“It’s best if we stand over here out of the way. When they fight, things can get a bit messy.”

 

Jack said, “I don't understand what's going on.”

 

John smiled and patted Jack on the shoulder. “It’s, umm, it’s a long story. Let’s just say there’s a lot of history between those two; a long, personal, family history.” John sighed, and Bitty felt the weight of exhaustion behind those words.

 

There was a noise, like a small cannon and the smell of sulfur grew more prominent. “Maybe, uh, maybe, we should wait outside.” John led them out to wait for Sherlock to finish arguing.

 

A relatively short time later, Sherlock came out, brushing off his clothes, which seemed to be covered with soot.

 

“All set?” John asked brightly.

 

“Yes. Let’s go back to Baker Street shall we?”

 

“But what about George Lambsy and James Olive?” asked Bitty.

 

“Yes, well let’s say they got their just desserts.” Sherlock grinned a grin that reminded Bitty fiercely of the Grinch and thought it best to leave well enough alone. He and Jack followed Sherlock and John to the street to find a cab.

 

o_X_o

 

“Oh, you dear boy! You’ve been through so much.”

 

Bitty smiled winningly at the older lady introduced to him as Mrs. Hudson, John and Sherlock’s landlady. She set down a tray of tea things and some scones. Bitty frowned at them but helped himself to one. He slathered it with jam and clotted cream.

 

“Mrs. Hudson, these are splendid.”

 

“Thank you, dear. It’s the same recipe I’ve been using for the last four hundred years.”

 

Bitty choked a bit, but decided the nice old lady was just a bit batty.

 

Jack meanwhile kept asking John and Sherlock if there was anything he could do for them. John reassured him it was all fine and they had done it as a favour for Alicia. “But please say hello to your mother for me.”

 

A short time later, after Jack and Eric had left, John curled up on the couch and patted the space beside him. Sherlock grinned at him and lay down beside John, putting his head in his lap. John stroked his head. “So how did you know where to find Eric?” He could practically feel the eye-roll.

 

‘Oh, John! You are my favourite human, but sometimes you are unbelievably dense.”

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“As soon as Jack had mentioned the magic pies I knew my brother was involved. Who else would want to kidnap someone like that? He must have scented young Mr. Bittle as soon as he arrived in London.”

 

“Scent him?”

 

‘Yes, rather the way he was with you when we first found you. He recognized something special about him.”

 

“Are you saying Eric is like me?”

 

“Well, not exactly, but somehow, somewhere in his family someone ran into someone like you.” He waved his hand in the air. “All rather simple.”

 

“Will he be safe from Mycroft?”

 

“Oh yes. I ensured it. Anything to make the partner of the son of a former love interest of ours happy.”

 

"There’s another thing, why aren't you jealous?”

 

“Because, John, as much as I might be jealous of your former partners, I am fairly certain she is the one who taught you to do that marvelous thing you do with your tongue.” He smirked up at John.

 

“The one that makes you scream? Yes, she did.” John smirked back. “Want to go try it out again?”

 

“Thought you’d never ask.”

 

Sherlock stood up, his eyes gleaming. Anyone else might be afraid of the red tinge and the slight trail of smoke that followed Sherlock to the bedroom, but not John. He was used to it by now.

 

Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson wrote out a recipe for Bakewell tarts she’d promised to send to Eric in exchange for his pecan pie recipe. There was a slight noise above her head, and she reached over and pulled open a drawer in the cabinet beside her. Rummaging around a bit, she pulled out a pair of earplugs and screwed them in. She tutted to herself, “You’d think after all these years I’d get used to the ruckus those two make. But even when I was head priestess of my coven, I never heard noises like that.” Shaking her head she finished writing out the recipe.

 

o_X_o

 

Several weeks later…

 

“And the winning chef is…Eric Bittle!” announced the host of the show.

 

“Do you think Mycroft had anything to do with that?”

 

“”Hmm?” Sherlock said sleepily, back in his favorite position, head on John’s lap.

 

“With Eric winning? Do you think he worked it so he would win?”

 

Sherlock shook his head. “No. Eric worked that bit of magic all by himself.”

 

John leaned forward and kissed Sherlock on the forehead. “Do you think we’ll see them again?”

 

Sherlock smiled up at John. “You liked them.”

 

“Reminded me a bit of us. A bit.”

 

“Sentiment. Just because one of them is tall and dark, one short and blonde, one has a bit of magical talent, one is brutish and slow witted…”

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“Doesn’t mean they are like us.”

 

“Look, you demonic git. I only meant they are completely and ridiculously in love.” He booped Sherlock on the nose.

 

“Did you just boop my nose?”

 

“I did.” He bent in an awkward sort of way and kissed the same spot. “I think they were nice.”

 

Snuggling down into the couch more and therefore John’s lap, Sherlock said, half asleep again, “Then perhaps we will.”


End file.
